


One More Try

by Hutcheeran91



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Depressed Simon Snow, Fix-It? Or maybe not????? who knows, Inspired by Music, M/M, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Canon, Simon Snow Gets His Magic Back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hutcheeran91/pseuds/Hutcheeran91
Summary: I'm so coldInsideMaybe just one more try
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. Just Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, it happened again. Just three songs in and here I am, with a vacant stare and a pair of sunglasses – his sunglasses – in a hand. I couldn’t help it, it’s like the universe knows the mood I’m in and it’s trying to attack me specifically with this fucking song. I didn’t even remember it. I fucking hate it.

I’ve had enough. Of everything. Of me, most of all, but I don’t think I’ll ever do something about it. I couldn’t be arsed, honestly. I don’t have that kind of energy. 

Everything seems like a chore lately, especially after that road trip in America – it was supposed to fix me, for fuck’s sake, yet here I am, the same old couch potato I’ve been for the last year. No wonder Baz hasn’t talked to me since we came back. Okay, I haven’t even tried to reach out to him, but… as I said, everything’s a chore, and my mind seems to be more foggy than usual.

There’s just one thought in there that’s clear enough: this has to end. It floats above the mist, flashing like a big neon sign. _This has to end._

I couldn’t bring myself to do it before America, but… I think the time has come. We had our goodbye, didn’t we? It even had stars and kisses (and a few tears too. I don’t really think Baz noticed them).

So, even though everything’s so hard these days, here I am, gathering his stuff in a cardboard box I found under Penny’s bed (I bet she wouldn’t need it anyway). I guess this is the first step of a breakup, they always do it in movies. Getting all their stuff in a box, then shoving it away in a wardrobe or something until they come to get it or you manage to forget about it. This should help… right?

It doesn’t seem like it’s helping, though. I just keep thinking – I pick up one thing, and a thought comes after it. Then I take another, and another thought comes, then another and another, and so it goes. I knew it was going to be tough, but I never thought it would be _this_ tough. Maybe that’s why this is taking more time than I’d like it to. This morning I took his lighter, left carelessly among Penny’s succulents displayed nicely on the windowsill (she calls them “ _her babies_ ”. Ugh.), then I proceeded to stare at it for around thirty minutes thinking about Merlin knows what. I snapped back to reality just because I smelt the cinnamon rolls Penny was cooking. So yes, it’s fucking hard, but it has to be done. _This. Has. To End._ Because it’s tough and I’m so tired, I just want everything to be okay for once.

I know Baz’s not okay, I can see it. And I also know that it’s my fault, even though he denies it, maybe even to himself. I want him to be happy.

_Why can’t you see that I wouldn’t be happier anywhere without you?_

This sentence goes round and round in my mind, day and night. It’s always there, and I really wish it weren’t. It confuses the hell out of me. I wish it would go away. (I wish it were true). I wish _he_ would go away (I wish he loved me). I wish he could understand what he feels and then leave. I wish I could understand him.

That’s one of our problems, I think. He has always seen me, he has always known what my next move or my next words would be. I never had that power (he used to say I was thick. Now I can see how true that is), and I guess I never will. I will always be an open book for him, but I will never be able to figure out what’s going on in that gorgeously sharp mind of his. He’s just so- so _cold_ , and distant. It’s like he’s constantly sheltering behind a one-way mirror, as if he didn’t want to show his feelings because he’s afraid of them. They scare me too, to be honest (because I can’t comprehend them. Because I’m thick). Maybe that’s why I can’t stand him touching me or looking at me. Because then he would _see_ me, and I don’t want to be seen, I don’t want him to witness the tragedy I’ve become and gross him out. I want him to leave before he gets to that point. I guess I’m just scared of his judgment, I’m sure it would hurt really bad if I everything he feels flowed out of him, confirming all the things I suppose he thinks about me. I couldn’t bear it.

That’s funny, though. Back when we were enemies, I didn’t care about being hurt by him, and it happened every single day, one way or another. But then _we_ happened and he got all soft and tender and I guess I did too. I let my guard down and now I don’t know how to get it back to where it was (I wouldn’t need to if I weren’t a huge fuck up).

I shake my head. Shit, I zoned out again. I get on my feet again, and my knees feel terribly sore after spending so much time crouching in front of the bookshelf. What the hell was I doing…?

I take a few experimental steps around the living room, to test if I still know how to walk, then I kneel again in front of the shelves. Right, I was taking his records.

They’re not too many – just five or six – but I know they’re his all-time favourites. When he came here after his lectures (Jesus, how long ago was that?) he would steal Penny’s record player to listen to them, then he would settle on the sofa to read, surrounded by pillows and blankets and me, with a tea in his hand and my curls trapping the other one, while the music cradled us at a soft, low volume.

_(It’s the good things that hurt when you’re missing them)._

I swallow, then I decide to go through them one last time. The Kishi Bashi record I got him for his birthday, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Hendel… and then George Michael. _Faith_. This is my favourite. It seems odd, in his collection, but apparently his mother loved it, so I guess he brought himself to like it because of some sort of weird emotional connection. I decide to put it on one last time, for old time’s sake. Maybe it will help me not to think so much while I fill the friggin’ box.

####

_When you were just a stranger_

_And I was at your feet_

_I didn't feel the danger_

_Now I feel the heat_

_That look in your eyes_

_Telling me no_

_So you think that you love me_

_Know that you need me_

_I wrote the song, I know it's wrong_

_Just let me go_

Fuck, it happened again. Just three songs in and here I am, with a vacant stare and a pair of sunglasses – his sunglasses – in a hand. I couldn’t help it, it’s like the universe knows the mood I’m in and it’s trying to attack me specifically with this fucking song. I didn’t even remember it. I fucking hate it. So of course, I crash on the couch and as soon as it’s finished I take out my phone and my earbuds and I look for it on Spotify. Every word it’s a stab straight to the heart. I don’t know how but- but that’s me and- that’s us. It’s beautiful and haunting and _it hurts so bad._

 _(So you think that you love me / Know that you need me / I wrote the song, I know it's wrong / Just let me go)._ I think I might be sobbing. He really thinks that he loves me and he needs me. But I _know_ he's wrong. That’s not love, that’s pity. He’s just good (so good), and he feels like he should stick around because he knows I’ve fallen hard for him and he doesn’t want to break my heart, not when I’m so… weak, fragile. 

He should just let me go but… I got to take the reins of this. I got to show him that I’m not weak, that he can actually be happy without me, even if it will make me feel like utter shit. Because I know that he doesn’t love me, not really, but I do (I love him so damn much, and I’m sure he knows even though I never told him), and I don’t want to be a miserable git in a one-way relationship. Sure, he might love me too, but… not like _that_. (Just like Agatha. Only, Agatha was perfectly aware of this).

I’m full-on bawling right now, with my head buried in a pillow and the hands holding onto a blanket for dear life, as if it was the only thing keeping me from drifting away in my own mind. I probably already went too far. I try to catch a breath, but I can only gasp for air. My lungs aren’t working properly, just like everything else in me. (I’m so fucked up). 

After a while I feel two arms wrap around me, soft and familiar. Penny. I shift, just to let her hold me comfortably, then I let my head go on her shoulder while I keep crying my eyes out. It’s always like this. She finds me falling apart and she holds me, no questions asked, no weird looks, just the warmth of her hug and a few pets on my head. 

_This has to end_. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I wouldn’t have to do this. I wish I wasn't such a terrible boyfriend. 

“ **I… I wish I knew what he’s thinking** ”. It’s a whisper, barely there. It escapes my lips without me knowing. I feel weird saying it, it awakens an unusual heat that shifts lightly in my stomach. It’s… new, yet familiar. It makes my heart clench and my tongue tingle. I shake lightly my head. It’s so heavy right now, and I’m so tired.

But then I feel it. It starts as a low rumble, then it gets louder and louder... I must be having auditory hallucinations or something like that (last thing I needed).

_“Bloody idiot. Simon’s such a bloody idiot. I should’ve smashed his head into the wall when I still could”._

_…Baz?_

  
  



	2. Kissing a fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should call him. I should text him. I should do something, but I know I won’t do anything. Because I don’t want to push him, and I’m not strong enough to hear what he would have to say (horrible, horrible things).

I don’t know what I’m thinking. I’ve been trying not to think since we got back from America, since that goddamn argument on the beach.

I know what Simon was trying to do there and I refuse to think about it, because if I do, I’ll feel even more miserable than I already am. He was- he wanted to- no. Stop. _Fucking stop. Don’t think._

…Crowley. I sound like Snow. He’s the one who never thinks. No… he used to be like that. I guess that he thinks too much, right now. Too much to touch me or look at me or even acknowledge my existence.

It felt like America may have fixed our relationship, somehow, just a tiny, little bit, but I knew I was wrong since he whispered that “Baz…” while sitting on the sand, with his ridiculous curls bouncing from side to side while he shook his head.

_Baz…_

He became even more distant after that, if possible. He refused to sit next to me in the plane (and I have to admit, it hurt an awful lot. I knew things were ugly but… I just didn’t expect it), and I haven’t heard of him in three weeks. Are we still a thing? Is he still my terrible boyfriend? Am I still his “draculove”? (Ridiculous, I know. He heard it in a song and has labelled me with it ever since. But it’s the closest thing to a pet name he ever had for me, and I guess I was too attention-starved to give him hell about it, so here we go).

I should call him. I should text him. I should do _something_ , but I know I won’t do anything. Because I don’t want to push him, and I’m not strong enough to hear what he would have to say (horrible, horrible things).

Simon, Simon… he’s so fucked up, isn’t he? I’ve seen it in his eyes, in his fleeting gaze, for the past months. He so lost, and I don’t know how to help him get back to me. I guess that’s my fault too. I’ve spent years tormenting him, just because I couldn’t cope with my own emotions, and for the same reason I’ve never been able to show him that I care, not in a way he could believe. No, I just pushed him away, somehow, and now he’s too far gone, and I’m here, sulking, still not helping him. What a piece of shit.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, then take another swig from the wine bottle in my hand.

_Okay, Basilton. You should stop. Breathe. Not everything is your fault. Simon would be depressed anyway. He’s got a lot on his plate, and you too. Stop whining like a little bitch, it’s not all about you._

He’d be depressed anyway, yes. He lost the Mage, and Ebb, and his magic. I could have made it a bit easier for him, that’s true, but his mind would still be fucked up. Our relationship would be too, because we just skipped every imaginable step between “arch-nemesis” and “lovers”.

I think… I think he’s afraid of me. Of what I could think of him. And that’s understandable, really. I’ve bullied him for years, I can’t deny that, but I’d bet my life on the fact that it’s also the Mage’s fault (speaking of which, fuck him).

He would always tell him that I was dangerous, that I was a plotting threat just waiting for him to make a misstep to maul him alive. His brain has been hardwired to be wary of me, and now that he’s at his all-time low, without magic and almost no-one to turn to, the results are showing. He’s afraid I might still hurt him.

I take another swig, then I turn up the volume of the music blasting from the hi-fi system (I think it’s George Michael that’s playing now. My mum was obsessed with him). I should stop thinking. Maybe the music and the wine will drown the bullshit whirling in my brain.

####

You are far

I'm never gonna be your star

I'll pick up the pieces

And mend my heart

Maybe I'll be strong enough

I don't know where to start

_Bloody idiot. Simon’s such a bloody idiot. I should’ve smashed his head into the wall when I still could. He might have hated me even more, then, so much that he would have never tried to kiss me._

_Why the hell did he do that, anyway? What went through that idiotic mind of his? I’m sure he didn’t like me that much even during the truce, so why the fuck would he decide to kiss me, just like that?_

_Pity. That’s probably the answer. He pitied me, a poor sod who was trying to off himself just because things didn’t go as he wanted them to. Every kiss, every evening spent holding hands, they were probably pathetic excuses to keep me where he wanted, under his thumb, sure that I wasn’t planning to ruin him (or ruin myself. Joke’s on him, I’ve been ruining myself my whole life). And now he’s so far away and he took my heart with him and, fuck, I guess I’ll never get it back. He can keep it; I don’t even want it. Why the fuck did he do it? I would have never thought he’d be that strong, really, and now…_

_No, no, nonono. Bollocks. Shut up, Basilton. He’s still strong, he’s fucking ruthless, he’s fighting things way bigger than him and you’re still moaning like a baby. Don’t take it out on him. Fucking. Stop._

_I close my eyes and leave the empty bottle on the counter. Then I put both hands on the cold surface and I shift all my weight on them, with a heaving chest and a hazy mind. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I need to clear my head._

_I decide to use the best method I know - I picture a board, with two columns._

_What I don’t know:_

  * How to help Simon Snow
  * How to fix our relationship
  * If I can fix our relationship



I think about it for a second, trying to hear my own thoughts past the rhythmic pulse of my temples. I take a long, shaky inhale, then add to the list

  * If Simon Snow is still mine.



He… he used to be, right? He used to be a lot of things. The Chosen One. A nightmare. A furnace. A soldier. (Mine). Now he’s just a boy, too soft to be left to his own devices. I should be there for him. Why am I not by his side? What is wrong with me? I should have been there the whole time, regardless if he wants me or not. He’s not in his right mind, he’s… he’s…

He’s my Simon, and he’ll always be, even when our paths will part (I know they will). He’ll follow his heart, he’ll go his own way, and I’ll be still here, left behind, trying to get the pieces of my shattered heart back together.

_Oh, Simon…_ If he didn’t care that much about the Mage, about me… if he didn’t listen, maybe everything would have been alright. That cocky girl with the piercing, the lady at the airport, all the dirty looks people gave us – they will always make him feel like a fool. If he just let them be and didn’t think that much about their opinion, if he followed his guts maybe things would be better. Not totally fine, but better.

I should help him. I should give him time. I should… I should let him do what he wants. I won’t try to constrain him. If he doesn’t want my help, that’s fine. If he wants to breakup with me, that’s fine too. I want him to be happy, and if that’s a necessary step for him to get there, I’ll be more than happy to let him do it. I’ll always be there for him anyway, a shadow in the shape of grief, always waiting for him. I couldn’t be anywhere else.

I will never have what I had with Simon with any other man, even if it’s been short and messy and definitely underwhelming. I guess all those Tumblr posts like “don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened” were right all along. (Crowley, alcohol has a disgusting effect on me).

I’m such a fool, anyway. For letting myself believe that we could work out, that we would have no problems – for thinking that he could ever be mine. I guess I was wrong, and-

There’s someone at the door. They’re knocking so hard on it, I’m afraid they’ll wake up literally everyone on the floor. I shake my head to get rid of a few stray, awful thoughts left in there, I dry my cheeks and my nose with the hem of my shirt (gross, I know. It happens to the best of us), then I stumble through the living room to sneak a peek through the peephole.

_…Simon?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, I hope you enjoyed this absolutely not angsty chapter :)  
> Anyway, the last one will come in a bit, I've been kinda busy with uni lately.  
> Again, I got the inspiration from another George Michael song, Kissing a Fool. While I listened to it I couldn't stop thinking about Baz, so here we are.  
> Also, the "draculove" thing comes from Forever & Ever More by Nothing But Thieves. I wanted to slip it into a snowbaz ff since I heard the song, it's something that Simon would totally say. So yeah, probably not the right ff to do so but whatever. Sue me.

**Author's Note:**

> Alriiiiight, guys. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Once again, I got the inspiration from music. I happened to listen to Faith, an album by George Michael, and I found a bunch of songs that were SOOOO Simon and Baz. And while I was listening to them, a lot of stuff came to my mind and I just had to write it down somewhere, and next thing I know this happened! And then I decided to post it because why not?  
> Anyway, I'll update as soon as possible, I promise.


End file.
